Ash
by Mukuo
Summary: UlquiHime. ***Spoilers*** Don't read if you're not up-to-date with the Manga.


Ash.

His body weighed more then he ever thought it would, then it ever had in all the experiences before this, and with this weight came the abash of thought, of decision. It was both unwelcome and unexpected, disturbing the slender twitching spear in his remaining hand, enough so that it dissipated, only to go unnoticed as all attention – aside from his own, moved toward the still body of Ichigo Kurosaki.

Nothing was going as he planned it. Nothing… it almost felt liked he'd lost the ability to plot the course of actions people would take, weaving some intricate design that lesser creatures followed without knowing, without much thought as to how they got there. To them, the destination was the only thing that mattered- the treasure waiting at the end. He wanted to know the opposite; he wanted to know the reason for this… this unexpected place and unwelcome circumstance.

Ulquiorra watched the woman skitter over to male strewn inelegantly across the floor; he didn't pass the male his orbs, those moons of green centred amidst an unreadable glittering darkness were settled adamantly on her expression. Offering nothing but the usual expression on his own features; but don't be fooled, there was _always_ an expression, he was never void of it… but it was a look his features displayed all the time, perhaps confused with indifference or something coldly unemotional. It was because he didn't change it, that it was over-looked, ignored and misinterpreted.

_My arm, leg and body are regenerating, but it's just a front. The innards he blew away won't return. If I didn't finish him off with that blow, I'd be the one lying there dead._

Saying that though, there was no flutter of warmth from his cold chest, there was nothing but the usual brisk chill moving across his fine porcelain skin, oddly mark-less considering the array of hungry monsters haunting the sands. There was no lament in his mind, for what monster chose to regret the path he took? One, incidentally, he had forged for himself, until things started going wrong, until that path was reduced to ash – which he couldn't walk far on without issue. He felt less then nothing, taking in the scene as it continued to surprise him, sending further imperfections through his plan, through his mind until he doted over reasons as to why it kept failing him.

All logical sense led back to _her_. She was the reason why this was all falling to pieces, why his plan kept shattering every time he articulately remade it, combining the infinite number of twists and imperfects that had been added through all the abuse. Ever since she'd been put in his charge, ever since these Shinigami and humans suddenly realized they wanted monopoly over her – after leaving her so alone…and so easy to claim. She was their treasure, he supposed… nothing but an empty conclusion to his mind, unable to grasp their perspective – nor did he feel any urge to put that much effort toward it.

True, the woman's powers had their uses and she was strong, strong enough to come here almost of her own will – for what purpose she'd had, he wasn't entirely sure; but he could suspect it was for the safety of her companions… The woman hadn't darkened enough for selfishness, even if she sported a lot of naïve immaturity.

They truly were foolish; he'd never take that claim back - Foolish, rash, over-emotional creatures.

Ulquiorra thought this even now, as the male, now stood in front of him, proposing that this fight should be fair. For a moment, the Espada looked rather taken back, though his eyes barely moved to twist a different expression across his black painted features, unfortunately, that look of _resignation_ never changed. Composing his inner self, which twisted no more frantically at the notion then the rest of him, Ulquiorra shifted slightly, ready to commit to this request – like he did with all others; he should take great pleasure in slicing a limb or two off the male, knowing it would never grow back, unlike his own. Perhaps that would rectify that peculiar nature; that total belief that what was just and fair would prevail over all the monsters groping for the light from the shadows.

Fair? The very notion of it was amusing. Nothing was _fair_. If things ever had the intention of being _fair _then Ulquiorra rathered he and plenty of others wouldn't be subject to this situation at all. If things were fair then that monster who'd risen from inside the male wouldn't have existed at all – wouldn't have turned the tide so easily… wouldn't have left him to this; this absent contemplation of how everything had fallen between his ivory fingers.

_If it were fair… you wouldn't have risen from the dead – twice._

Ah…  
If it were fair… perhaps he would have had more _time_.

At first, Ulquiorra wasn't sure what it was, that tugging feeling, pulling at the large cut-out silhouettes that were his wings, he spread their frames, letting an all too vibrant emerald hue turn toward the one on his right side. He sported no new emotion at the sight of the dark frame crumbling, dissipating in the air until it became long winding wisps of elegant darkness.

"Kill me."  
The words left him before even the thought had occurred, before that look of resignation could become severe; his body felt heavy and wouldn't move even if he commanded it, he felt the pull of regeneration further sapping what was left of him, in order to stitch together that mark-less ivory skin, all bared to darkness around them, until his chest and face seemed to be the only means of light, over-shadowing the other tones that seemed both unimportant and unimpressive in comparison.

He had a new plan, but it was shattered just as quickly as Ulquiorra has presented his weakness, the brutal weight and fatigue his body felt, he labelled it, like some twisted invitation. He presumed that the male would go for it, be baited by it… would think of all the things he had done to him, his friends, the treasure he'd stolen in the night and then monopolised for himself, he presumed the male would want revenge of some sort, if not that, then the satisfaction of knowing it would never happen again.

The Espada's features twisted again into that possible look of surprise, before the resignation returned, before he felt himself get slowly lighter, his wings almost totally removed, at this point even the darkness encircling his aqua orbs began to lighten just as he took to picking up the pieces, to form another plan, another logical way of escape. Not escape from this lingering death, nor escape from these foolish creatures before him… in truth, he wasn't sure what it was he was meaning to escape.

How very human of him. To not know what you're running from, to and why…

"In the end, you never do what I want."  
The Espada mused, letting the shards of his plans drop to floor by his feet, or rather what was lamely left of the pair. In that moment, he turned his head toward the woman; who was like a book intriguing enough not to put down, one you could still leave…but never in the middle of a chapter. You had to be perfectly in place as not to miss anything, appearing skilfully between those episodes where the woman blossomed or darkened – maybe just a little.

He could not comprehend the look on her face, but parted the seam of his black lips and asked a question he'd wanted to from the very beginning, one that needed just enough time before it could be honestly answered. It was unfortunate… but he'd run out of time and he didn't want to let this little bit of knowledge pass him by, the last detail to her unintentional emotional strength and prowess – the last chapter to her story… or rather, the ones pertaining to him - The one's he'd monopolised.

"…Are you afraid of me? Woman."

She looked surprised for a moment, then composed herself quicker then he thought she would, he half expected her to flinch from his outstretched hand, to which he tipped slightly, as if awaiting to grasp her own. Her face was a picture, her brows upturned with something akin to sorrow and fresh tears swelled at the corners of her swollen eyes, darkened in places from the strain of all these ill-fated things.

"I'm not afraid."

Her answer was spoken softly, her voice a tear away from shutting down into something inaudible, she seemed to notice after the first word and strengthened her answer for him, keeping that look on her face as her eyes looked at his properly for the first time, that conviction and strength renewed for him in their honey auburn hue.

The Espada kept his gaze on her, still unchanged, but that resignation softened a little around the edges, there was no joyous emotion stricken across his face, however. There was no twist in his heart, no warmth as the wind took him away with it in soft bundles, which separated and twisted beautifully, elegantly and silently.

"I see…"

He felt but the brush of her fingers before he was gone, enveloped into the winds, stealing that small inch of warmth from her fingers as all that Ulquiorra was and could ever be vanished. There was no last thought and cruelly not nearly enough time to conclude with conviction why this had come to pass. There was no chance to observe the expression on her face only enough to know that she'd reached for him.

-That she wasn't afraid.

"People won't remember what you did or said – but they'll always remember the way you made them feel"

Perhaps then, he was doomed to be forgotten.


End file.
